Andante
by thebelljar93
Summary: Somewhere between the variation of notes dipped in black ink, she found memories playing at the back of her head, like a song.


Disclaimer: I don't own any characters. Names are excluded; for a reason. But you know who they are.

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She looked above the white, transcendent space as her eyes gently traced out a few bars, appeared out of her wild imagination, as it made up a whole measure. All she need was to pick up a pen and create a harmony, by writing it out. Somewhere between the variation of notes dipped in black ink- she found memories playing at the back of her head, like a song. A song about life. How life has an endless measure, the amount of notes she sketched was the amount of people she thought would matter. As it progresses, the notes became less and less. Eventually she stopped, only to realize she was only writing music in an empty nothingness, flashbacks played in her mind, of an unexpected tragedy taking her life away in a single breath. The score she played was engraved neatly on heaven's bright blue skies, as she hummed a peculiar tone, whispering the lyrics to the end of the world.

_Pianissimo_, said the skies. Her tone subdued. The movement of her fingers were altered to match the need of the score. _Andante, pianissimo_, she tried adjusting her pace while barely being sober. A song was played, directly from the red strings of her heart as the black and white keys absorbed her melancholy under the guidance of the skies. The clouds absorbed her mood, and the melody she played. The skies dawned in on her. _Molto allegro_, her head swayed slightly to the side, as she puts more pressure and speed to the piece. Flashbacks of life seemed like the negatives of a film. She had always loved film negatives, as she would love to sum up all the music into a series of continuous tale on the negatives. But the part she remembered the most, is him.

_Everything's a mistake, everything's a fantasy_, _everything's not real_ , he thought. Everything might not occur the way he wanted, but it did happen the way he needed. The skies looked down at him, as he was shining with hope. His fingers descended on the string instrument, caressing it delicately. He looked at it with a questioning gaze, wondering if this is real. His ears captured the sound of someone, playing the infamous black Steinway melodiously; it's as if all of a sudden, everything wrong in his life went from bad to better. He picked up the bow of the violin, and started playing along. The notes crept up his veins, forcing him to convey his feelings, his everything into the whole piece.

He tuned in harmoniously, as his playing was the perfect match. A perfect combination for the duo symphony both of them simultaneously have created. It made him feel at peace. The memories of his life gushed into his head, his traumatic past; the airplane crash. Eventually, his imagination suddenly diverged into a deep abyss, absorbing his whole existence every minute. _Molto vivace_, his heart shook his entire body to move, increasing his velocity. _Allegro, allegro, allegro_ And he realized he wasn't living in the same place anymore. He escaped.

His head was in the clouds, the bright blue skies even though he knew those chains were still holding them back, never wanting to let go. It reminded him of the heavens. Were they pleased? He closed his eyes, concentrated more on the faint piano playing. Cold sweat went down his spine. Feeling as if his heart was going to burst, the darkness pulled him inside again. One last breath. One last attempt to freedom. _Allegro maestoso! _

Heaven's skies greeted him warmly, absorbing his every senses. A breeze crept up his cold skin. The memories were slowly fading. Film negatives were dipped more and more in black. He opened his eyes. He wasn't his old self anymore. With a black tuxedo, a red bow tie, and a whole orchestra in front of him. His gaze met the star of the orchestra, the pianist, a girl, smiling directly into his eyes, telling him he should continue with his ambitions. He could still hear the piece, the world's end symphony, as his sight began to deteriorate once again. He needed to listen to everything all over again until his ears bleed. Obsessed. Absorbed. Drowning. Fainting. Indeed, her music was enough to reassure him that everything is fine. He woke up again to the sound of his own laboured breath, realizing how it was all a theatre, a mere play of a faint tragedy, recalling everything back in time metaphorically when he used to struggle a lot. He looked at the violin neatly placed at his bedside, and next to him was the pianist, sleeping peacefully in his arms.

_Finale_


End file.
